


If You Were a Home

by woakiees



Category: Triple Frontier (2019)
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25735213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woakiees/pseuds/woakiees
Summary: "You were silent as you worked on rubbing away some dried blood, being as gentle as you possibly could be, not wanting to cause him any pain whatsoever. Santiago stayed completely still, his chest rising and falling at a steady rhythm that you found yourself trying to match."
Relationships: Santiago "Pope" Garcia/Reader
Kudos: 23





	If You Were a Home

It was supposed to be simple. Easy. A straightforward, uncomplicated recon mission that shouldn’t have taken anymore than a few days at most. Santi had been on missions far more difficult before, and had managed to pull them off without a hitch. It was one of the things that you truly admired about him.

But this one hadn’t gone as smoothly as he had planned.

Honestly, you didn’t know exactly what went wrong, and you were really too afraid to ask, not wanting to know the specifics for yourself. The fact that he had been gone for three days longer than he should have been and the deep wound across his chest was enough for you.

He’d gotten stitches, that much you were thankful for. Santi hated hospitals, and would avoid them if at all possible, and you were just glad that he had decided to put his health and safety above anything else for once. The cut was deep — not life threatening, but stitches had definitely been a must.

You didn’t mind cleaning it for him, or changing the bandage whenever he needed a fresh one, but still, it made your heart clench every time.

You were silent as you worked on rubbing away some dried blood, being as gentle as you possibly could be, not wanting to cause him any pain whatsoever. Santiago stayed completely still, his chest rising and falling at a steady rhythm that you found yourself trying to match.

“Do you need any of the Tramadol the doctor gave you?” you asked, trying to break the silence.

Santi shook his head, watching your movements closely. He stayed silent, and you bit the inside of your cheek, wanting nothing more that to crawl out of your own mind and into his.

“You always get quiet when I’m fixing you up.”

He only shrugged, and for some reason, that small, emotionless action sent a bout of irritation flooding through your body.

“Awesome. Great talk, Santiago.”

He flinched, and for a moment, you thought you might’ve hurt him, pulled on one of his stitches or something, but you hadn’t even been touching his chest. You soon realized it was because you had used his actual name — something you only did when you were angry or bickering with him.

“Please don’t turn this into a fight,” he mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t mean to be like that.”

Your expression instantly softened, and you sighed gently, looking down at your hands. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, tilting your chin up with his index finger, effectively pulling your attention back to him. “Please don’t apologize either. It’s not your fault.”

“I just feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

“ _Princesa_ you’re not doing anything wrong. I’m just-”

He hesitated, eyes scanning across your face with furrowed eyebrows. You noticed his chest moving just a little bit faster, and you worked to match the pace again.

“Please talk to me, Santi,” you mumbled, loosely encircling his wrist with your fingers. “Please?”

“I’m just really fucking scared.” He let out a short, breathy laugh, but the sound lacked any humor behind it, and you found yourself furrowing your own eyebrows.

“Scared of what baby?”

He hesitated again, but this time, you didn’t push. You knew he didn’t handle being pushed well.

“Scared of not coming back to you. Scared of losing you,” he mumbled after several seconds, voice barely above a whisper. “Scared because I only feel safe when I’m with you, and I hate that I need you around to feel that way. Because what if I lose you one day? I can’t.”

You felt your stomach flip at his admission, and not in the way it usually did whenever his words caused it to do so. It wasn’t butterflies, it wasn’t even nerves. No, it was pure dread. Dread, because you knew that feeling all too well.

“Santi, baby, those same thoughts go through my head every single time you go away.”

A look of guilt crossed his features, and he averted his gaze, but you copied his earlier actions and pulled his face back to you with a finger under his chin.

“But I also have faith that you’ll always come home to me.”

“ _Cariño_ it was so close this time.”

“And look at you, you only walked away with a scratch.”

His expression didn’t change, and you sighed gently, resting your hands on his thighs, rubbing them slowly, soothingly.

“You’re always going to come back to me, you know why?”

He only hummed, and you smirked gently, tilting your head to the side.

“Because you’re Santiago _fucking_ Garcia, that’s why.”

That earned you a snort, and a playful roll of his eyes. And was that a smile you saw creeping its way onto his lips?

“And because I know you’ll always do whatever you have to in order to come back to me, and I’m always gonna be sitting here waiting to remind you that you’re safe and oh so loved. Understand?”

Santi nodded his head, that hint of a smile growing. “Yeah, yeah. I understand.”

You couldn’t help but smile yourself, leaning up to catch his lips, kissing him softly, like he was something delicate made of glass.

His wound, his fear — all of it was momentarily forgotten.

All he could focus on was you and your lips and your taste and how you felt like home.


End file.
